


Compromise

by fractionallyfoxtrot



Category: Cabin Pressure
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bond!AU, M/M, agent!Martin, consensual voyeurism, quartermaster!Douglas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-21
Updated: 2014-02-21
Packaged: 2018-01-13 01:39:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1208080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractionallyfoxtrot/pseuds/fractionallyfoxtrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The show—or, in their case, the mission—must go on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compromise

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tracionn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tracionn/gifts).



It was a compromise.

A compromise made out of necessity and trust.

Martin always tried to extract the information he needed through other means but occasionally - too often in Douglas’ opinion - he was forced to woo and bed someone to get through the next step of his mission. It was part of _his job_ , a point they argued constantly before the compromise, while it wasn’t part of Douglas’ to watch, no matter how loathe he might’ve been to leave Martin under someone else’s watch while he was in the field.

Thus, the compromise.

Douglas sent an intern to check the security of the incoming feed with explicit instructions to _text_ \- not call, not hand-deliver - the status to him as soon as possible. He couldn’t help his grin as he secluded himself in his office; he did enjoy watching the nervous little peons scuttle.

He took a seat at his desk, multiple screens set up in front of him showing all manner of information relevant to Martin’s current mission, and pressed an earpiece into his ear. A few simple keystrokes redirected any audio to his ear and minimized all unnecessary applications for the time being. He sat back, trying to make himself comfortable, and checked the time.

Like clockwork, a sleek notification slid onto his main monitor, stating a name, a geographic location, and pulsing bright blue. A light ping sounded in his ear with every pulse until he acknowledged the notification, answering and assessing the feed to bring up a video image of Martin in some far off hotel room.

“Hi Douglas.”

“Morning Martin.”

“It’s always odd when you say that,” Martin said, his image crooked as he adjusted the position of the laptop. Douglas saw only Martin’s shoulder for a moment, then the corner of a bed, followed by Martin sitting on the bed. “It’s not morning here.”

“I’d have hoped that you’d gotten used to the concept of time zones by now,” Douglas mused. He kept his eyes on Martin, who was untying his tie, as he reached for the door locks under his desk. “We can’t all travel the world; some of us have to stay behind and keep the country running.”

“See if you can improve the tube times,” Martin chuckled.

Douglas grinned, affection threatening to get the best of him. “I’ll do my best.”

Martin sat framed in the middle of the image, already mostly dressed for the dinner he had to attend in an hour. His tie had been folded and set back on the bed where Douglas could make out his jacket and coat. He sat with his legs parted by the corner of the bed, muscles slightly flexed, possibly to point his toes to make contact with the floor; Douglas couldn’t confirm as he couldn’t see anything past Martin’s shins.

“Should… should I start?” Martin asked, unbuttoning his cuffs.

“Not yet.”

Martin nodded and began folding up his shirt sleeves as Douglas retrieved his mobile. It buzzed just as he got it into his hand, displaying a text from the intern he’d sent out on a check: ‘Secure on all levels.’ Douglas smiled and deposited the phone in a desk drawer; the country could survive without him for a few minutes.

“All right,” he said, bringing Martin’s attention back to him. “At your leisure.”

Martin nodded again, pushing himself forward so he sat on the corner of the bed; his legs relaxed, looking like his feet touched the floor now. His hands settled between his thighs and his eyes closed as he let his head roll back. Douglas knew that he was preparing himself, temporarily putting aside the mission and putting himself in a different frame of mind. He was more than willing to wait, especially with the baring of Martin’s neck to occupy him.

Douglas settled himself in his chair, letting his legs fall open naturally.

On the monitor, Martin shifted his weight, a move that would’ve been imperceptible had Douglas not been blatantly staring.

“What are you thinking of?”

“Tokyo,” Martin answered, the ending ‘o’ soft in Douglas’ ear.

He hummed in agreement; he knew what Martin was talking about. “Which part?”

“The night you took me on the desk,” Martin said, eyes still closed as a hand cupped his groin. Only his thumb moved, rubbing the head of his cock as Douglas knew he liked. “We barely made it through the door before I was up on it, complimentary stationery and all. Those pens hurt,” he said, frowning at the memory.

“It was hardly my fault when you were the one who arranged that very _interesting_ dinner,” Douglas said, watching Martin start to stroke himself through his trousers, slowly, encouraging the growth of his cock. Douglas moved his chair an inch closer to the desk, reaching the keyboard to adjust the aperture settings on the laptop camera. “Presentation like that?” he asked as the brightness of the image improved, making the bulge in Martin’s trousers visible. “How could one resist?”

Martin opened his eyes, meeting Douglas’ through the feed. “You sure it wasn’t just the sushi?”

“No, it was all you.”

Douglas turned up the volume to his earpiece so he could hear the soft moan Martin breathed at the compliment. The flush of Martin’s cheeks from the praise matched the flush of arousal creeping down his neck. He seemed to flatten his feet on the floor, pushing his hips forward to open better access to his crotch.

“Can I see you?” Douglas asked.

Martin didn’t acknowledge the request; he simply reached for his belt and the fly of his trousers, making his answer perfectly clear. A small shuffle and a quick rearrangement brought Martin’s cock into view, standing mainly erect in a nest of fine clothing. He stroked himself with loose fingers, teasing his way to full hardness now that his cock was free. His eyes met the camera again just as Douglas’ tongue slipped out to wet his lips; Martin knew him too well.

“Shall I-”

“Please,” Douglas breathed, taking a moment to rearrange the growing tightness in his own trousers. He grinned when Martin pulled a small tube of lubricant from his pocket. “Ever at the ready?” he teased.

“Always have to be prepared...” Martin squeezed some lube into his palm and took hold of himself, groaning out the rest of his sentence. “In the _field_ ,” he shuddered, pulling slick fingers over the head of his cock.

He sank into an easy rhythm, stroking himself at a steady pace as he leaned back on one arm, putting his actions on full display. Douglas watched as Martin’s hand moved over his cock, every upstroke ending in a twist of his wrist and the press of his thumb into the slit at the top. Martin’s head fell back on one pull, possibly because he increased the tightness of his grip, lengthening his torso and causing his shirt to stretch taut over his chest. Douglas could see every breath he took and he longed to feel Martin’s panting on his skin, not just hear it in his ear.

He wanted to touch, to take command of Martin’s pleasure, but there were still physical limitations even he hadn’t found a way around.

“Martin.”

“Douglas.” It was neither response nor question.

“What are you thinking?”

“I wish you were here,” Martin answered, struggling to lift his head as if the weight of it was too much. “I wish you could-”

“Push you down into the bed?” Douglas finished, taking control of the only thing he could: the fantasy that spanned the distance. He pressed on, greedy for the quickening pace of Martin’s hand. “Tear those damn trousers off you without a care as to how much they cost? Fuck you with my fingers,” he growled, watching the tendons strain in Martin’s neck, “until you’re wet and dripping and begging for my cock?”

“Yes,” Martin whimpered, his hands tightening in the sheets and on his cock. “Yes. God. _Fuck._ ”

The expletive hung in the securely transmitted air, Martin seeming to lose his breath as Douglas expectantly held his.

Martin’s legs tensed again as, Douglas guessed, he hooked his feet under the bed frame to help support himself. His hand moved quickly, forgoing the earlier twists and tricks in favor of pure friction, speed, and stimulation. Every movement of his body gave away how dangerously close he was to orgasm: his eyes shut tight to everything but the sensations, his hips pushing frantically up for more; his heart, Douglas knew even without bringing up the monitors, racing at a speed that seemed reckless.

Martin trembled with every pull of his hand. “Douglas,” he panted.

“Go on,” Douglas encouraged, eyes glued to the feed. “Let me see you come.”

Douglas’ words seemed to trigger Martin’s release. He came, almost as if on command, bringing both hands up to catch his release and falling back onto the bed as a result. He held himself until the tremors stopped then fumbled for the hand towel he’d set out behind him. He did his best to clean himself up with unsteady hands, trying to catch the come leaking out between his fingers before it fell on his clothes. Seeming satisfied that he’d saved his suit, Martin threw the towel away and just lay there - legs open, cock out for Douglas’ view - as he tried to find his breath.

“God,” Martin mumbled, throwing an arm over his face.

“Yes?” Douglas replied, trying to keep his voice and his own desire in check.

Martin chuckled and struggled to push himself up. “Not funny,” he said, looking straight at Douglas.

It took two tries but he managed to get to his feet and walk ungracefully to, Douglas assumed, the loo, his gait bearing a striking resemblance to that of a newborn colt. Douglas took advantage of Martin’s absence to collect himself, pressing down on the insistent erection straining against his trousers. There would be a time to deal with himself but it wasn’t now, in the middle of Martin’s mission and shortly before a meeting on quarterly finances. He tapped a few keys, saving the feed for later when he had time to indulge.

He was composed and ready to resume work when Martin re-entered the image. Martin also looked more collected; he’d combed his hair and his trousers and belt had been redone, his shirt sleeves folded back down. Martin grabbed his tie and sat on the corner of the bed.

“How much time do I have?” he asked, turning his collar up to slide the tie around his neck.

“Thirty-five minutes, not including the ten minute drive to the venue,” Douglas answered. He brought the mission-relevant information back up on the monitors not occupied by Martin tying his tie. “Lady Alara, first name Natalia,” he read from the screens, “will be seated next to you at dinner. She’s proved unmovable by coercion and bribery, which isn’t that surprising seeing as she gained power by killing her own father.”

“Douglas.”

“Luckily, she’s known to have a predilection for younger men, particularly ginger ones.”

“Douglas.”

Douglas shifted his gaze to the image of Martin. He seemed to be standing in front of the laptop, bent to bring himself level with the camera; his face filled most of the feed.

“I know all of that,” he said, straightening his tie. “I do _read_ the information you send me.”

Martin left the image again, leaving Douglas to petulantly rearrange the applications in front of him, bringing up the finance report he had absolutely no interest in.

“Thought you could use a last minute, pre-shag briefing,” Douglas muttered under his breath.

“ _Douglas_ ,” Martin said, indicating that he’d heard his muttering.

“Sorry,” he apologized, trying to reign in his undercurrent of jealousy.

Martin came back into view, buttoning a single button on his suit jacket. He put both hands down on either side of the laptop and leaned forward, making his smile fill the image.

“I love you,” he said, holding Douglas’ gaze.

“I know.” Martin canted his head, a wry, knowing grin pulling at one corner of his mouth, and waited. “I love you too,” Douglas said, affection getting the best of him as Martin nodded his approval.

“I’ll be in touch,” Martin assured him. “Don’t forget about the tubes.”

There were a few more seconds of smiling, smartly-dressed Martin before the feed died and there was nothing.

Douglas sighed as he removed the earpiece from his ear and opened the drawer to retrieve his mobile. Five texts, seven missed calls, most of them from Carolyn; hardly anything to worry over. He released the locks on his door and headed for his meeting, thinking on the cause of his still half-hard cock and _not_ on what the current state of the mission required Martin to do.

He texted Arthur as he got into the lift, temporarily passing him control over Martin’s surveillance. He didn’t like doing it but he’d never do anything to betray Martin’s trust.

If the mission went according to plan, Martin would be back in two days without them having to rely on the compromise a second time before then.

Douglas selected the floor and wondered if there was anything he could actually do about tube time efficiency.

He grinned as the lift doors closed.

He had two days.


End file.
